


Undiscovered Country

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, First Time, Multi, Resurrection, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack thought a party would be just the thing to cheer up his team after the events of "Heroes" and "Resurrection". But things kind of got out of hand. Luckily the Science Twins straighten him out. So to speak. This fic attempts to do justice to and to resolve the UST in both "major ships" of SG-1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You trust me, you trust my team."  
\-- Maj. Samantha Carter to NID Agent Malcolm Barrett, in S6 "Smoke and Mirrors"

~~~

Jack hadn't needed skin grafts, thank goodness, but the cracked ribs were in the back, where he'd landed on a big rock, and that had hurt like a son of a bitch when he breathed. He felt perennially light-headed from the shallow way he had to take in air. In the middle of his recuperation, having to talk to the reporter in Air Force window-dressing was no picnic, either. But when he went down the list of things he owed Hammond, it was a small thing. He could do it. He hated it, but he did it and he did it right; honest answers, no sarcasm. Well, hardly any. The guy had a sense of humor, which helped, and he knew exactly what he wanted, so at least he didn't waste Jack's time.

All this public relations hoopla was not nearly as effective as you would think in distracting him from both the pain of his wounds and the inescapable fact that they'd lost Fraiser. It happened; people died. But it never got easier. Jack figured maybe that was good, that it never got easier.

It made them all just a little bit ding-y, though. Which wasn't enough to explain what happened. Hell, there was probably no explaining it, other than, it was just time. Past time.

But, after they lost Fraiser, they were all a little lost. And when Jack got fucked over by fate a few times too often and too quickly, it made him, shall we say, just a tad reckless.

~~~

Jack was worried, and hiding it, because Daniel was barely talking, which was weird in and of itself, but Daniel had had too much to deal with lately, way too much, and so Jack resorted to reading his report about what had gone down in Los Angeles, instead of swooping in and taking Daniel out to one of the quiet bars they had discovered in Denver a while back, after Daniel had first come home to them.

In those days, after the return to Kelowna, and after Quinn left, there was too much to say, and no way to say it. The mountain was impossible for any kind of personal conversation. Jack's house was also impossible, and Daniel's own, new house was right out, for a whole different set of reasons. Back then, the weight of the familiar was too much for Daniel. He felt oppressed by Jack's house; haunted by the idea that he should remember things he just didn't, yet. He told Jack he was a stranger in his own life, and that it was worst at Jack's house. Jack didn't know if that was good or bad. Good, because when Daniel finally got his past and his present squared away, he'd probably feel just as much at home at Jack's as he always had. Bad, because, well. Obvious. Just bad because of the whole mess Daniel had been in since the first Kelowna disaster (and the whispers of guilt that Jack ignored very well, on the whole, except for late at night when the beer wore off and he woke up at three with way too many thoughts chasing themselves -- the whispers that said, _It was a mess way before you ever dialed that fucking planet; and how much of it was your fault, O'Neill? Your fault?_).

But Daniel's new place, his own house, was the opposite -- too lonely and too meaningless. Or so Daniel told him.

And thus, Jack had learned, feeling his way, how to talk to Daniel now, what to do with him, carefully, awkwardly, now that they had him back -- the same, yet so different. Changed in ways no one understood, least of all Daniel himself.

This guy who until recently was Arrum, and who had Daniel's face and Daniel's voice, did in fact like company, and, when they were stood-down, he--surprise--liked going to Denver. It was big and busy and strange, and no one there upset him by remembering him when he didn't remember them. (Daniel's neighbors knew him, remembered him. Waitresses, people at the gas station, the coffee shop. He hadn't gone out of his way to be memorable, but he was.)

So after this screwed-up NID op in Los Angeles, if things had been less, well, ding-y, Jack would have, with as few words as possible, dragged Daniel to Denver that Friday, maybe even made a weekend of it. But it was ding-y, a wacked-out time, more than usual, because it was all so personal, after they lost Fraiser. Everyone was scraped raw. And Jack also realized after the Los Angeles incident that it wasn't just Daniel he should consider, though Daniel had gotten the worst of the nastiness. It was all of them. Teal'c had done his thing with the bomb, and Carter had apparently bonded with this NID agent, Barrett, yet again, despite her new ... thing ... with that cop. So it was clearly time for them all to get together, to kick back, try to have some fun, air it all out. Laugh, even. What a concept.

And Jack _wanted_ to see them all, help them all decompress, since he'd been out of the loop, and he especially wanted to see Daniel, and so he took it upon himself to invite them all over ... to Daniel's. The three of them, and Barrett, who was apparently one of them now, and also Lee, because Teal'c insisted.

"Doctor Lee acquitted himself admirably," Teal'c had said. "He would appreciate an invitation." And Jack had raised an eyebrow at Teal'c and Teal'c had failed to rise to the bait, but he'd held his silence until Jack was very sure he was serious. So, Lee was invited, too. Jack was not looking forward to the geek talk that was sure to ensue, but he trusted Teal'c's judgment.

He told Teal'c to go ahead and invite Lee, and Jack swung by Carter's lab to invite her. Daniel, he'd deal with later, alone. He couldn't quite figure out if Daniel would be relieved, or upset yet grateful, or just pissed and withdrawn. Because since L.A., Daniel wasn't talking, and that was a very bad thing, because Daniel generally talked, even now that he was all fully descended and himself again and remembering stuff.

Walking to Carter's lab, Jack pondered how Daniel would take it when he sprang the party idea on him. He'd made it Daniel's house because that way, there was no way Daniel could weasel out of it without more pouting than even he could justify. Carter, now, Carter would talk to him. Daniel had pretended he had a translation or some urgent thing to decipher for Reynolds, or maybe it was write up a point of Unas protocol for Edwards. Whatever he'd claimed to have to do, it was some obviously made up excuse.

So Jack sauntered (as much as the barely healed ribs let him saunter) into Carter's crowded lab, and found a stool, and put his feet up on the corner of a stainless steel bookcase, and drank her cinnamon tea, and listened.

He shook his head over Daniel's fuck-up with the candle, but no one had been around to check on that, head that off. Too many leads to follow and not enough bodies. Once again, Daniel had solved at least two mysteries and then had the bad luck to be there to witness the grisly end of it all. Carter was generous in her praise of Teal'c and Daniel, as she always was. He was glad they were working together so well, even when they went off without him. He told her so; praised her decision-making, made her blush.

A silence fell after she'd said all she had to say. It had indeed, as Barrett had summed it up at the beginning, gotten ugly.

Jack looked at her, considering. She was happier, lately. The dating was agreeing with her, as Jack had known it would. And today, she lit up in her funny, endearing way, when she'd told Barrett's part of the story.

He swung his feet down. "You trust this guy?"

"Yeah, I trust him." She didn't hesitate, but she thought for a minute about how to elaborate, dipping her tea bag up and down in her cup. Jack waited. "I went out on a limb for him after the Kinsey assassination attempt, and I haven't had cause to regret it." She met his eyes, steady and unflinching. "He's a good guy. And it's useful to have someone on the inside at NID."

"That is true."

She was looking away again, smiling to herself. If he was undecided before, thinking of his difficulty in reading Daniel these days, vacillating between this team party and the idea of going to Denver, shaking his head over the vivid pictures he'd created in his mind, based on the photos he'd seen and what Carter had told him, of Daniel talking to that poor doomed Anna ... person. You could hardly call her a person, but he was sure Daniel would have seen her as one... If he was undecided before about trying to get them all together to relax, Carter's happy face cleared several things up for him, but then it immediately clouded a few others.

Carter was smiling to herself, some kind of private smile about Barrett, but then she looked at him again and paused, and frowned. He covered the awkward moment. He distracted. He told her about the evening he'd planned for them, and he teased her about her latest obscure experiment, and he left, limping down the hall, favoring all the muscles on his left side.

Dammit.

The party was a good idea, as far as it went, but Carter had shoved him right through the obvious work-related stuff and into the undercurrents, with one hesitant look. Jack scowled, making an airman sidestep him. He liked her much better when she was being the Bitch In Charge and not this hesitant daddy's girl, making him carry all her fucking baggage. _Carter! For crying out loud!_ He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to shake some sense into her.

Because he knew why Carter'd lost that glowing, dewy, distant look when she was thinking about Barrett and then looked at him. He knew exactly what was up with her; how despite all the rules and her own good judgment she still carried a torch for him; looked to him to approve of her, probably secretly looked to him for way more than that, maybe without even realizing it. Hell, he loved her; he wasn't even trying to conceal that any more. He loved them all, all three of them. But now he was worrying, again, a worn-out rut in his mind, right next to the "Is Daniel Okay" rut, about what this weird twisted-up thing between the two of them was going to do to Carter in the long run.

Dammit.

Jack brushed by Siler, greeted him, stifled a curse because Siler'd forgotten it was his bad side. He limped on, through the unchanging gray corridors, the harsh light. He had been infinitely relieved when Carter took up with the cop, even though he felt, weirdly, that she was seeking his permission. He'd gone out of his way to kid her about it, to show her with the joking that he was happy for her. Because there was never going to be anything between him and Carter. No. Jack had made up his mind a long time ago that if he ever finally broke all those regs for anybody, it would not be for Carter. It would be for someone else, someone even more casting- against-type for a battered, cynical, bloody-minded old pilot. But that was something he wouldn't let himself look at very often; something he filed in the mental box marked "Things To Do When I Retire". Because the possibility of any of it happening was so remote, so contingent, and the downside of it all if it somehow did happen, was so fucking immense, that there was no point in going there. At least that's what he told himself. It was complicated -- too complicated. The team, the history, Daniel's history and his, going all the way back to Abydos and the fucked-up, nearly destroyed man he'd been then.... Lotta history.

He shook himself, and stopped at the door to Daniel's lab. Daniel didn't hear him and didn't look up. Daniel was turning over the pages of a big, stained book, and comparing it to the rubbing of an inscription that some team had brought him. Jack just watched, admiring the calm intensity of Daniel's expression, the gentle taps of his fingers on his lips.

~~~

Jack popped a carefully assembled nacho in his mouth -- thank you, Carter. The party was going well. Daniel had put on a show of pouting at being blindsided, made to host a party at his own house without notice, but it had been a show.

_"Jack!"_

"Daniel?"

"The place is a mess."

"You have a cleaning service."

"I just --"

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"I don't --"

Jack raised his eyebrows further.

Daniel caved. It showed only in the sag of his shoulders. "I'm not really in the mood for a party."

"Which is exactly why we're having one."

"Why can't it be at your house?" Daniel whined, and logged off the network, snapped shut a couple of volumes on his desk/work table, and sneezed as he gave them the evil eye.

"Because it needs to be at your house."

"Why?"

"Because it does."

Daniel raised his eyes, pushed up his glasses, and stared. Jack stared back.

It had been a productive conversation. So here they were: chips, nachos, food, beer. Lots of beer. And margaritas, but mostly beer.

Jack looked meditatively at his Dos Equis. He had always liked Mexican beer. It was one of the few things he and Daniel agreed on. Teal'c and Lee were laughing, both of them sitting on the floor in Daniel's too-small living room. Everything about the house seemed scaled down; a little out of proportion, a little crowded. The six of them filled the room.

He watched Carter, who had gone from dignified drunk to silly drunk over the last three hours. It was a good look on her. Jack watched as she stretched out her neck and laughed, head back, at something Daniel had said to Barrett. Barrett could hold his own with Daniel, Jack was happy to see. Daniel didn't intimidate him.

Carter was right. Barrett was a good guy to have on the inside at the NID. Someone sympathetic. Jack watched Barrett watch Carter laugh, and noticed how they were just drunk enough that their body language had gotten all friendly and loose, the two of them. Daniel was slumped in the far corner of the sofa, watching, smiling, but a little separated from the warm bubble that Jack sensed was now being created around Carter and her NID agent.

Jack watched, an idea taking shape in his mind. A happy idea. A reckless idea.

The way the team had become family was good for all of them, and Jack's conviction about that was unbreakable. Hammond believed it, too, or he would have split them up long since -- given Carter the command she deserved, cycled Daniel to some other team or into some other job entirely. Jack would not enjoy being on a team without Daniel, though, and Hammond knew that. Jack was fairly certain that Hammond would never split up SG-1, now, even if he should. Because, for example, just letting Daniel be on a field team at all was the mother of all emotional decisions. Hammond had probably had a soft spot for the four of them since 1969, when you thought about it! But it was good. Even though it went against the rules, it was a good decision, the right decision, to keep them together. They'd done so much, and there was so much more to do. SG-1 worked miracles. They were better together than apart.

So that was how he thought about it, and how Hammond must think about it. But. Then the undercurrents would surface with Carter, and Jack would wince and scratch his head.

Jack looked at Daniel, who was blowing across the mouth of his beer bottle, a low, intense sound. Lee complained and covered his ears, which, of course, was the signal for everyone else to start doing it, too. Everyone became hilarious and intent, by turns, in their effort to make music with beer bottles. Daniel, go figure, was the best at it, creating a round, deep note. His lips were pursed, pouting. Then he smiled, showing teeth.

So. Carter and the agent, hmm. And, of course, the Daniel factor. Because, since Daniel had been back, Jack had been forced to try even harder to ignore his own heart. He loved them all, yeah. But. Daniel. They went way back. They had something undeniable in its weight, its reality, that Jack didn't understand; something that had pulled him back from the brink of the unthinkable thing he'd almost done to Abydos. In a way, Anubis had nothing on him. So, he owed Daniel so much. And he wanted to give Daniel... so much.

It was so complicated! What he wanted, what he couldn't have.... He watched Daniel, blowing on his beer, drinking a bit of it to change the note, laughing at Teal'c. Jack stirred in his chair, trying to ignore that he was half hard from watching Daniel's mouth. See, there was never a good time, and he owed at least the appearance of propriety to Hammond, and the team had to come first, and he hated to fuck with Carter any more than he had to. Teal'c, now -- Teal'c could probably cope with whatever the crazy Tau'ri threw at him, even a romance between his CO and his archaeologist. And besides -- now Teal'c had Ishta. Teal'c had already made some choices that had taken him a step or more away. But -- Daniel. Jack watched Daniel laugh, and tease Teal'c, and the conviction grew on him, sitting there in Daniel's cramped living room, that it was time for something to give. Because, face it. Jack was just about done being unselfish and upright and putting SGC first. Jack couldn't, wouldn't, say goodbye to Daniel very many more times. Probably not even one.

God, they were dancing now. Barrett and Carter, and Teal'c had been dragged to his feet by Daniel, and there was an argument over what exactly was a cha-cha, and Carter was insisting, loudly and with great passion, on some particular dance step, and Barrett gently but firmly got her dancing, while Teal'c distracted Daniel into describing the history and etymology of the term.

Jack chuckled to himself. Lee had taken Daniel's place at the end of the sofa and was half asleep, his eyes almost closed.

_Here we are, O'Neill. It can't get any better than this, and you know just exactly how much worse it can get._

Daniel's mouth. Daniel's hands, Daniel laughing up at Teal'c. Carter and Barrett, dancing down to the end of the room, suddenly serious. Dancing back.

_Teal'c was not going to be a factor now. Before Ishta, well, who knew. Such a narrow window we'd had; after Junior, before Ishta.... _

Jack made himself sit up and take a good look at himself. What exactly was that about? A window for what? What did he think he was fucking plotting here?

He watched Carter's face, and he got up and went into the kitchen for another beer. He paused there, glancing at the big windows, wishing he could see the spectacular view, but the room was too bright. He could go out onto the deck, but he was drawn back into the living room. Because that's where Daniel was.

~~~

Teal'c had waked Lee and made him say goodnight. Jack had noticed Teal'c watching Carter and Barrett. Teal'c had never given Jack so much as a meaningful glance all evening, but at eleven, he'd jollied Lee to his feet and made their goodbyes.

Nachos, pizza, more margaritas than Jack wanted to count. Some ice cream had been eaten, and now Carter and Barrett had a new game. Barrett was laughing at Carter, who was trying to hang a spoon from her nose.

"No, no, really. I knew a girl at the Academy who could do this."

They were close now; outright flirting. Barrett had looked at Jack once, and he'd just smiled. Apparently it was all the hint someone as bright as Barrett needed. The guy couldn't be stupid; it was Carter he was flirting with, after all. Guy had to have balls to think he could get anywhere with Major Samantha Carter.

Barrett. He'd read Daniel's terse summation of L.A. He'd seen how Carter acted around the guy. It seemed like the best compromise he was ever going to get. All of a sudden, it seemed like an obvious way to ease all the pressure. Carter was leaning against him now, laughing. He caught Daniel's eye and Daniel looked knowing. It was a risk, yes, but what wasn't?

He thought about it, and every scenario made his groin tingle and his face flush. He played out the ramifications, weighed the downsides again. He watched Daniel watch Carter. He picked one of the spoons off the tray and ostentatiously licked off the salsa. Daniel watched him from the sofa.

"I think it must be genetic," he said. "Something in the shape of the nose." He turned to Daniel, knee-walking the short distance, and hung the spoon on his nose. It fell off, and Jack chuckled and kept at it, helping and hindering until all four of them were laughing hysterically again.

Daniel and he ended up half collapsed against each other on the sofa when the game fell apart under its own weight. Carter was tapping Barrett's forehead with their spoons. Jack felt Daniel's laughter ebb as he started to rearrange himself, pull away, and instead Jack reached an arm around his neck and pulled him against his side. He felt Daniel seize, and then settle. Daniel had to be drunk; at least a little. He petted Daniel's hair, but only twice. He let himself revel in the feel of Daniel against him, an all-too-rare event when they were both off-duty like this. The weight of what he was about to do pressed upon him. He decided he wanted to let Daniel get used to the idea. Jack had no doubt that it wouldn't take much for Daniel to figure out what Jack was doing. He didn't have to look at Daniel's face. He could catalog all the thoughts and impressions coursing through Daniel's body by the way he let himself mold against Jack's side, by the way he seemingly casually let his hand rest on Jack's knee. Jack leaned his head back onto the sofa, close to Daniel's head. Daniel was warm. He seemed to be breathing a little fast.

Jack could imagine just how Daniel's thoughts were tracking. He would be happy at the physical contact, and surprised, then more surprised. He'd give it a little while to see if Jack was going to end it, and when it became clear, shortly, that Jack was going to stay close, Daniel would feel shocked, then aroused. He would go very still, wondering, checking that it was really happening, and then giving his agile mind a split-screen treatment, letting himself revel in being this close to Jack when they weren't hiding or under fire and yet still cataloguing, wondering what the fuck Jack was doing and why tonight and how were Carter and Barrett taking it. Oh yes. Jack knew just how it would go, there inside Daniel's skull.

Jack smiled and pressed himself close, leaned, with never a hand in an impolite place, and yet he was way into Daniel's space now. Way beyond the friendliest he had ever let it get. He let Daniel's thoughts run their course. Barrett and Carter were sitting on the floor, still intent, in that way of the very drunk, on the spoon game.

Jack had a feeling that if he pushed this in one of the possible directions he could imagine, that Daniel wouldn't even mind a kind of strange, four-is-a-crowd twist to the evening. He might enjoy, for example, letting Jack kiss him while the other two saw it. Jack thought about that, and got hard in the process, and amazed himself, just a little, at the, well, ding-y recklessness of it all. Daniel might have a bit of an exhibitionist streak. It was just a feeling Jack had. Because Jack had noticed, once, long ago, how proud Daniel was of Shau'ri, how he had let her kiss him, long and dirty, in front of everyone. As it turned out, their last kiss... His mind shied away from the fallout of that day, shied from the painful off-limits parts, and veered back to the much safer, realer territory of now. On this couch. The warmth and weight of Daniel at his side.

Barrett and Carter were still oblivious, still laughing, but now they were leaning on each other, and when Barrett looked over at the sofa, seeking an audience for his own amusement, he registered, finally, how close Daniel and Jack were sitting. It caused a subtle change in his expression; mostly eyebrows and a softening of his cheekbones, and then he smiled. It was kind of a predatory smile, a knowing smile. Barrett's eyes met Jack's for a moment.

After that, as Jack just sat there, soaking up Daniel's warmth, it wasn't long before Jack could see Barrett switch gears, from silly friendly to intentional friendly, with Carter.

Then Carter got up and got some more beer for them all, and she didn't quite register how close Daniel was to Jack on the sofa, how still they both were. Well, it might not have reached the stage of odd for her yet, after all the time they'd spent wedged together in tents, huddled in the rain, piled together in caves, cargo holds, and cells. But Barrett saw. Barrett understood. Jack was ready to lay bets on that. Carter left the room, and Jack felt Daniel coil beside him. Not tension, exactly. Readiness. He put a hand on Daniel's knee.

Barrett looked at Jack.

"She's a hell of a woman," Barrett said, evenly, not tentatively. A statement made to see what would be put up against it, like a chess gambit.

"She is," Jack agreed, and he deliberately squeezed Daniel's knee and then petted it, moving further up the thigh in what could only be construed as a grope. The gesture was possessive. Daniel was poised, watchful. He didn't move, and he didn't object. Jack wondered if Daniel was hard. He wanted to look, (wanted to touch, actually, but it was too soon for that) but Carter was coming back, and he needed to watch Barrett, to see how this would play out. (Barrett would know if Daniel were hard. Barrett could certainly see that Jack was, if Barrett wanted to check. Jack thought he might have checked, while Jack was watching Carter.)

Carter was drunk enough now to miss some of what Jack was doing, but sober enough to notice that after she sat down, and the conversation turned to other party games, other parties, that Barrett started flirting with his hands, with his touches. And Carter was now loose enough, comfortable enough, to let him.

Jack smiled, his hand still on Daniel's leg. Yeah, she'd been getting laid with the new guy, the cop. But it wasn't exclusive yet. He knew it wasn't, without having to question why he knew. He knew Carter, like he knew Daniel. Like he knew himself.

This could be perfect. This could actually work.

One more round of beers, more silly talk, different music on the stereo, and a humid quiet crept up and around their feet, a humming quiet of signals being given and received, and Jack watched until he saw Daniel and Carter exchange a measuring look. Now that he had Barrett pegged, that was the moment he needed, if this was going to work. He counted on Carter, when it all came right down to it, to be drunk enough, horny enough, and solid enough as Daniel's second-best friend, to let it all unspool, if that's what Daniel wanted. And he was sure, now, that Daniel would let this happen. Daniel had let him get closer tonight, had let Jack push the envelope. His silence was even more telling than an argument, than a confrontation, would have been. Daniel might rip Jack a new one in the morning for the risk he was running, but even so, it would be worth it.

Now Daniel looked at Carter, and she smiled, and then she let Barrett snuggle her closer. Barrett put his lips in her hair and closed his eyes. Jack felt Daniel lean into him a little harder. Jack drew a breath.

He wondered, now that the moment was here, what, exactly, to do. What specific action to take. Something blatant, but not too blatant. The tension in the room was potent now. No one had said anything, and he wanted to keep it that way; push Carter into action, not into a discussion, and also, not into getting embarrassed and driving off. He made his decision. He slid, carefully, intentionally, over Daniel's leg, keeping maximum contact, pushing Daniel more upright on the sofa as he went. He slid to the floor, between Daniel's knees, and leaned back. Now he could meet Carter's eyes, as she watched his progress. Her eyes widened a little. His shoulders were between Daniel's thighs, which had opened willingly for him, and he reached up, up and over his own shoulders, with both hands, and as if he'd been cued, Daniel put his palms against Jack's, and Jack pulled gently until Daniel's arms were tangled with his and Daniel's face was in his shoulder. He felt Daniel's lips against his neck. Daniel didn't kiss him, but warmth bloomed there, spreading fire in widening circles through Jack's body, because Daniel opened his mouth. Jack could feel his tongue. He wanted to close his eyes and feel the wave of renewed arousal sweep over him, but instead, Jack held Carter's gaze. She was obviously torn between puzzled and aroused. Barrett was leaning against her, continuing to watch Jack. She licked her lips, stood up, took Barrett's hand, and pulled.

She said to Jack, "We're just; we're just going to..."

"Help yourself," Daniel said, without moving his head. His voice, the pull of his lips against Jack's neck, gave Jack a deep jolt. Daniel's voice was low. Warm. Sexy. It was new voice; one Jack hadn't heard before. He watched the other two disappear, and Daniel sat up. His hands came around and cupped Jack's face, tilting his chin up. Jack went with it; looked up, let Daniel see his face. Daniel bent toward him and kissed him. Upside down, warm, wet, familiar and strange. Go time.

~~~~

Sam was in an odd state; dreamy and horny with the alcohol and the animal comfort of Barrett's company through the party -- she supposed she'd better call him Malcolm now, since she was about to screw him. Did he have a nickname? She'd have to ask. But she'd had a moment of shocky clarity, twined in a weird way with her growing itch to get laid tonight, when she had seen, in living breathing color, the colonel putting his hands on Daniel. O'Neill had set this up.

That was completely clear to her now. It was a spinal reflex for her to do what O'Neill wanted, and that one ratifying look she'd exchanged with Daniel had reassured her that he was on board, too -- funny, how she still wanted to protect him, though he clearly did not need it; probably had never needed it, really. So O'Neill had engineered this, and Daniel wanted it to happen, too, but it was pretty fricking out-there, even for them. She was pretty certain the two of them hadn't done anything like this before -- at least not together. Not one hundred percent certain, but pretty certain. The happy fog created by the warmth of Barrett's hands and the bright chill of the margaritas was making her a bit unsure how she felt about Daniel and O'Neill, but she knew she had her marching orders.

Barrett had closed the gap as they walked along the hall, the heels of her sandals clicking on Daniel's parquet, and Barrett put his free hand on her shoulder. He had big hands, strong and long-fingered, and he was tough, and cool, and safe, and he would do, and O'Neill and Daniel had shown them the exit.

Now they were in Daniel's tiny bedroom, and Barrett was closing the door and turning to her. He was smiling. He didn't look surprised, or weirded out, or anything but happy. He pulled her to him, carefully, firmly, and kissed her with his eyes open. It was very nice. She twined her arms around his neck, leaned in, and opened her mouth.

Love the one you're with, and all that. No more second guessing, she had preached silently to herself, sitting on a sofa weeks ago with Cassie sobbing in her lap. No more regrets. No more missed chances.

Barrett, no, Malcolm. Malcolm was a good guy, a straight shooter. He was here, and he was warm and alive and he wanted her. Good enough. He kissed her, exploring, leisurely. It was wonderful. He tasted of margaritas and sunlight and Aramis. She kicked her shoes off, and suddenly he was taller. She closed her eyes. He drew a breath, his arms tight around her.

"I'm being used," he said, matter of factly, but he was smiling.

"No," she protested, her eyes flying open. She kissed him some more. She tried to sound reassuring, solid.

"Yes, I aaaam." He didn't sound mad. The kissing went on between their words. She found a streak of margarita salt near a corner of his mouth.

She said, "Well, it's complicated."

He didn't know about Pete; how could he? And he certainly didn't know about her doomed crush on O'Neill. This was all too weird. But she wasn't thinking very well. She pressed herself to him, breasts, pelvis, thigh. He was hard. She liked that, writhed against it. That made his hands jerk and clutch her, and his kissing got deeper. Oh, yes. Very nice.

He had it right, though. It was all complicated -- their work, their intertwining guilt and need and feelings. Too complicated, in fact, even for her, tonight. And this, on the other hand, was simple. Skin, hands, lips, someone tall to lean against. She kissed along his jaw, to a spot under his ear that made him gasp, and then kissed back to his lips and put her tongue in his mouth. He staggered a little, gratifyingly, and sucked on it, then took over the kiss. He was intent, thorough. Sexy.

"Complicated? No shit," he said, and she fleetingly admired his capacity to hold a thought. She might be a little drunker than she had intended. She stepped back far enough to get her hands on his shirt buttons.

"You have a problem with this?" she asked. He met her eyes without flinching.

"No problem. We all expect weird shit if we get involved with SG-1." He said it with a thump at each syllable, as if it were a chant for a sports team. He was smiling.

She smiled back. His shirt went to the floor, and she reached for his belt, but he beat her to it. "Well, I guess you're way beyond "involved" now. Up to your ass in regs violations," she said.

"Secrets are my business, sweetheart," he said, and he'd gotten himself out of his slacks and boxers and his socks, and he was gorgeous, hard and big, and he gathered her to him again and put his mouth on her collarbone. She moaned a little, running her hands down his sides, over the curve of his butt, and he said against her ear, his breath making her shiver, "You have too many clothes on."

"You're right." She stepped back and crossed her arms and grabbed the tails of her shirt and stripped it up and off. He had his head to one side, watching. She went for the hem of her stretchy camisole, but he said, "Leave it," so she did.

He was almost as hairless as Daniel, and that struck her as insane, that she'd make that comparison, not the comparison to Pete, but of course Daniel was on her mind, out there with the colonel, out there on that leather couch, doing ... god knows what ... right this minute. Images crowded into her mind, now that the attraction she'd always suspected between O'Neill and Daniel was verified. Thinking about them gave her a tingle that she didn't pause to look at too closely. Barrett stepped to her and tugged her striped cotton bikinis down himself.

_Yes, they're clean, Janet,_ another crazy internal giggle, and then she didn't think about anything for a while, because Barrett was kneeling, his lips on her stomach, and his shoulders were warm and smooth under her hands, and his mouth on her skin was making her dizzy.

"Lie down before we fall down," she gasped, and he stood smoothly up and turned down the covers for her of Daniel's bed.

_I did this,_ she thought, an astonished internal murmur, _I made this happen, chose this._ He came into her arms, kissing along her cheek, kissing her closed eyes, down her neck. So gentle, so tender, yet no hesitation at all. Yeah, he wanted her. She had done this, made this happen. But really, it was O'Neill who had done it, all of it.

The disturbed bedding gave up a whiff of Daniel -- the dark scent of clean sweat, and a kind of sweet oily smell, like baked pecans -- just him, as if he slept naked, which he might, if alone. She had no way of knowing, of course. The night of the stakeout didn't count. It surprised her, how the smell of Daniel made her squeeze her eyes shut and suddenly see him, clearly drawn, there in the dark behind her eyelids -- his mouth, his shoulders, his hands. Daniel. They were in Daniel's bed. She whimpered, because Barrett was brushing his cheek against her breast, brushing lips against her nipple, and then he was sucking, gently at first, then harder.

So very rude; to be lying here with this guy, thinking about Daniel, and only then did she think of Pete. Her eyes flew open. _Drunk. Definitely drunk._

Barrett reached for her hand, and she linked their fingers and squeezed and moaned, because he kept going, mouth across her ribs, trailing a hand over the soft swell where his mouth had been, and his chin was in her hair, now, and she shifted and he pressed down, anticipating, and the pressure itself made her moan. His lips went to her thigh, first -- warm and careful and slow, and she squeezed his hand and let her knee fall to one side. She felt him lean on one elbow as he slid a hand under her ass. She tried to take a deep breath; she was already getting light-headed. She let go of his hand, and he pulled it in and slowly tested her with one finger.

Beautiful, a point in space, he had her suspended. Sam twisted her head on the pillow and tried not to cry out.

"You're so wet already," he said, and kissed along her outer folds, teasing her by what he waited to do. He was still inside her, not moving his finger at all, though she expected him to move, to use his fingers to spread her, but all he used to do that was his tongue.

"Oh, god," she said, and gave up to it -- the melting warmth of his tongue, and it was always too good to be true, how this one thing could consume her, overtake every thought in a relentless, formless wash of pleasure. She let both her knees fall open and tilted her hips. She felt him cup the curve of her ass, but mostly it was all about his mouth, his mouth. She held tight to the sheets, and there was nothing at all to think about. "Oh yeah, oh god!"

She didn't even try not to shout. She was loud, though. She surprised herself, and had a moment of coherence in which she wondered if O'Neill might think hearing her was part of the evening's attractions. But it was only a moment. Because Barrett was good; he waited for her at just the right moment, pausing the intricate pulse of his tongue, and then he pushed her through two cascading, long orgasms, and he pulled his finger out before he licked gently up and, finally, away.

He tried to kiss her belly, but she flinched and he immediately stopped that, instead pressing the length of his body against her, hugging her. Still breathing hard, she fumbled a hand to his dick and squeezed it, hoping to convey her thanks that way. He waited for her, so polite. Her breath was ragged. Her body was pummeled, delighted, at rest. She licked her lips and pushed her hair off her forehead. Her mascara was probably all down her cheeks. She doubted Barrett -- Malcolm -- would care.

"Surely Daniel has rubbers," she said. It was hard to form the words. Her orgasms had been splendid, spending and completing the wave she'd started feeling while they were dancing, but the glittering allure of arousal was still within arm's reach, and she had that yearning ache -- it hadn't been enough to squeeze around his finger. She wanted him inside her now; she wanted him to fuck her and it was so nice to know she was about to get exactly that.

"I'll look in a minute," Malcolm said, and he kissed her, letting her taste herself smeared on his lips. She loved that -- some men wouldn't do it, didn't like it. Wiped their faces on the sheet on the way up. She could breathe again, easy and deep, and he put a warm palm on her ribcage.

"God," she said, pulling back from the kissing. "Probably the nightstand, maybe the bathroom."

"I could wander out there and ask him," and he smirked at her. She held him tight against her and outright laughed. His cock was so hard, wet at the end, pushing against her hip, not flagging at all, and she was flattered by that and even more impatient, suddenly, to feel him inside her. He let go of her and rolled, and she leaned on her elbow and admired the muscular sweep of his back. The condoms were, indeed, in the drawer of the strange antique ottoman next to the wall.

"You don't want to know what else I found in there," Malcolm said, turning back to her with a short strip of packages. She giggled. He rolled to his back and started to open one, but she took it from him and sat up. "Or maybe you do, I don't know."

She grinned, but she couldn't speak. She was thinking about how he would feel moving inside her, filling her. She bit her lip and tore at the package, but she was looking at him -- clean long lines of stomach and thighs, hardly any hair, but a nice flat arrow below his navel, and a smooth chest, like Daniel. Like Pete. She fit the condom on him, and he closed his eyes. She slid a knee over his stomach and nudged him with her ass, lining them up. He opened his eyes, then, not seeming surprised, just alert, and she held his gaze, bringing her chin up a little, and sank onto him. He licked his lips, and his hands came to her hips, and he was very content to let her drive. She liked that in a guy.

~~~

The kiss was brief, and quiet, because of the awkward angle. When Daniel let go of his jaw, Jack watched Carter and Barrett leave, hand in hand, Barrett watching her ass, and he noticed, a little distantly, how his heart had sped up and his palms had dampened. Hard to believe, with all this time of smothering what he felt for Daniel, that with a couple of tugs and twists, he'd exposed it now. To fucking everyone. Well, it felt like everyone.

Daniel's hands went to his shoulders as Jack sat in front of him on the floor, and he craned to stare up at him again. Daniel's eyes were narrowed, and they showed not a trace of blurry drunken recklessness. And Jack noticed with an inner lurch that he'd put his glasses aside.

"Assuming quite a bit here, aren't you, Jack?"

Jack grinned. The tone was exactly what it would have been in a briefing; dry, fast, determined, sarcastic.

"I don't think so," he said, and pushed up, and his legs carried him effortlessly and he was bearing Daniel back against the sofa and kissing him again, hard and hungry. Daniel didn't give an inch, no melting, no yielding. He grabbed Jack around the shoulders and kissed him back. Jack pressed in, kneeling over him on the couch. His mouth tasted of beer and chips. Pure _want_ rushed over Jack. He tightened his hand on the back of the sofa. The burn of stubble against his lips, Daniel's mouth -- open for him, willing, yet not soft at all. They were both taking. Jack stopped kissing, but didn't pull back. He had to stop for a second. He was afraid he was going to come right there from squirming in his jeans.

"First kiss," Jack said, against Daniel's mouth.

"But who's counting," Daniel replied, and it was so, so easy to lose himself in the warmth. They were holding on hard. Jack had forgotten this -- the embrace of a man, of someone as broad and big as himself. He let his head sink to one side and didn't retrace his motives in pushing this; didn't think ahead to sexual logistics. He kissed Daniel Jackson's arrogant mouth, and tasted heaven.

He found a way to ride the wave of arousal, found he was going to be able to surf without coming -- maybe getting older had a few benefits after all. God, it had been a long time. He kissed Daniel for a while, and then after what felt like the first wave of an assault, he paused and looked at Daniel for a moment, really looked at him. Way too much was going on, and he was seven years worth of horny and hard, and his dick was making him impatient, but there was no reason to rush this. He paused. He was curled down, balanced over Daniel, half on Daniel's thighs, and half on the cushions, and it was awkward and cock-eyed, but he could feel Daniel's erection with his knee. Daniel -- go figure -- seemed to be in tune with what Jack was feeling, with whatever instinct had made Jack stop, and he licked his red lips, beautifully worked-over from Jack's kisses. He loosened his grip and moved his hands to Jack's neck, gently, but without hesitation. He cupped one against Jack's pulse, and slid the other into the collar of Jack's shirt, the blue intensity of his stare never wavering.

Jack leaned in slowly and met his mouth again. This time it was much more gentle, no pressure, all tongue, and Daniel could do that, too. Of course he could. The silent exploration, warm and wet, cascaded straight to Jack's groin again. There was no reason to rush, no reason for impatience, but on the other hand, why wait?

Daniel, that mind-reader, was pressing on his neck, and moving, and he maneuvered Jack sideways and down to lie on the sofa. Leaning on one shoulder, still kissing, Daniel went to work on Jack's fly, and Jack cocked his hips up to show his enthusiasm for the idea. It was hard to kiss and smile at the same time, but he pretty much had no choice.

He was coming to grips with the idea that his strange plan had worked; that he had Daniel here, on top of him, with a prospect of skin. It was unbelievable, yet inescapable in its messy reality. It made Jack greedy. When Daniel started tugging his jeans down, it gave Jack room to unbutton his shirt.

Daniel hummed approval, and kept at jack's fly while he nuzzled his way through the hair on Jack's stomach, down and down, and the delicious suspense made Jack shiver. He tried not to buck. He closed his eyes and let his hands coast along Daniel's skull, along his ears, as Daniel skimmed his cheek and lips along Jack's overheated dick. Then Daniel grunted and hitched, jostling Jack's legs, and brought his face abruptly lower, and he licked Jack's balls. Jack didn't really think whimpering was part of his image, but whimper he did.

Exquisite, maddening -- Daniel's tongue all over that delicate skin; Daniel's lips, too -- rubbing, kissing, licking, as he lifted and tugged and drove Jack into making a lot more noise.

Daniel chuckled. "Now, as I see it, there's a really elegant way of accomplishing the objective here without messing up my leather couch; would you sign off on that, Jack? Would that be within, um, parameters?"

Jack knew there was no medical reason to stop Daniel from going for it, and he was betting Daniel knew, too, but how like Daniel to want everything discussed and accounted for and explicit.

"If you want to, you're safe," he said, forcing out the words. God. Daniel. About to blow him. On Daniel's couch.

"Mm," Daniel said, and writhed against his legs, bringing his damp crotch against Jack's shin, and he, of course, didn't get right down to business but proceeded to tease and torment Jack's dick exactly as he had his balls -- mostly tongue, a lot of dragging his wet lips along the shaft, and when he finally took the head into his mouth Jack had achieved a new, shivery plateau of frustrated bliss that worked to his advantage, because he was able to stare at the ceiling and cradle Daniel's head, incidentally finally getting his fill of mussing his hair. Then the world narrowed to the wet glow of Daniel's mouth, Daniel's tongue. Jack hung on quite a while before the slow-building explosion finally reached critical mass and obliterated him.

When he could think again, Daniel had insinuated himself between Jack and the back of the sofa, and was propped on one elbow, with the other hand moving so gently, almost tenderly, over Jack's slowly softening dick. Daniel was just waiting, his lips against Jack's temple.

Jack's arm was so, so heavy, but he moved it, clutched Daniel's bicep, squeezed hard.

"Worth the wait?" Daniel said.

Motor control returning almost as fast as volition, Jack slid his hand to Daniel's head and turned it and kissed him, softly, intently. He figured Daniel would know that was the only answer. On the backside of his climax, the feel and taste of Daniel's mouth was, if possible, even more overwhelming, even more delicious. So much wanting. Years and years of wanting this, of holding back. Jack kissed him, slowly, savoring.

And he took his time with his turn, enjoying being released from urgency. Simple pleasures. First Jack reveled in his permission to pat and gently shove Daniel until he had taken Jack's place, flat on the sofa on his back. Then Jack unbuttoned his dark plaid shirt, ran his fingers over Daniel's chest, tickled his abs until Daniel grunted protest and batted his hands away, watched how his chest rose and fell more and more quickly. He put his tongue to Daniel's nipples and made him jump; licked his collarbones and made him give up a few decidedly unmanly whimpers, in his turn, traced the definition of his pecs, kissed his way along the barely-visible arrow of hair, while he unfastened Daniel's jeans.

Jack arranged himself on the floor, kneeling in a way he had learned would spare the weaker knee. He spread his hands, one on each of Daniel's thighs, and slid his mouth over the head. Daniel jolted as if shocked.

"Oh, god, Jack," he said. He voice sounded strangled, astounded.

_Yeah, that's it,_ Jack thought. _That's it._ He closed his eyes, pushing down as far as he could, farther than was actually comfortable, then not waiting, immediately pulling back up almost all the way, far enough that he could get the end of his tongue to the welling tip, so he could really taste it.

He did that for a while, sliding Daniel in and out, deep as he could, steadily, until he opened his eyes and noticed Daniel had one hand tight on the sofa-back's big cushion, squeezing until his knuckles were white, and the other hand over his eyes. He was tense, almost vibrating. His dick was so hard. Jack let himself smile, spoiling the seal he'd made of his mouth, and he knew Daniel felt it. He shifted, keeping his slow rhythm going, but gathered Daniel's tightening balls in one hand, rolling them gently.

That apparently was the last straw; more than Daniel could take, and Jack loved that. Daniel started moving, trying to hold back, not wanting to choke Jack, but he had to move, couldn't help himself; that was obvious. His hips rocked up, relaxed; rocked up, relaxed. A lovely rhythm. Jack could have handled more and harder, actually, even enjoyed it, but why criticize? One thing, though. He pulled his mouth free, breaking the rhythm, but he had to say it.

"Let me hear you."

And Daniel let him hear. He released his moans; lovely guttural sounds, in a broken rhythm, the bursts of his voice matching his hips. Jack kept hold of Daniel's balls, but he took his other hand and squeezed and pumped, just under his mouth, until Daniel seized and shook. While coming, he was silent, choking off his groaning, which disappointed Jack, but Daniel let go of the sofa and cupped Jack's head, quite hard. Jack swallowed every pulse. It tasted surprisingly mild. Trust Daniel to stay well-hydrated. Jack wanted to laugh. Instead he pulled off gently, and laid his head on Daniel's thigh. He closed his eyes. His mouth felt empty, deprived. He listened to Daniel trying to catch his breath.

"See? No muss, no fuss," Jack said, lightly, running his hands along Daniel's hip bones and up along the tight stomach muscles. Daniel panted.

Eventually Daniel let go of Jack's head and collected a couple of throw pillows under his arms and groaned and rolled, dumping himself onto the floor, banging Jack's knee in the process. He apologized, his voice blurry and clogged, and put one arm up. Jack fit himself under it and they lay there, face to face, twined close. Daniel was right up against the front of the sofa. Jack was glad there was no coffee table. That would have been painful.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Daniel demanded, but the cranky tone was spoiled by the fact that his cheek was pressed against Jack's and their stomachs and dicks were pressed together, too. Daniel had found a comfortable spot for his knee, between Jack's thighs. It was like Daniel was trying to burrow into him, which suited Jack just fine.

Jack turned his head and kissed what he could reach conveniently -- Daniel's cheek and edge of his upper lip, as it happened.

"That something had to give," he said, against Daniel's skin. "And that Barrett wouldn't freak." So odd to just answer Daniel, to decline to give back crankiness or attitude. It didn't bear thinking about, this tenderness. Jack petted Daniel's arm and held him close.

Daniel grunted. It wasn't quite assent, but it wasn't quite incredulity. Jack could interpret: _"You're crazy, but I love you anyway."_ Jack smiled and let it be. _Ha. Give the man what he wants, a blow job, a coupla straight answers, and look what happens. He shuts right up. Note to self._

Daniel was half dozing now; Jack could tell from his breathing, and relief and amazement and delayed shock washed over Jack, and he started to doze, too. Until a drawn out moan from Carter startled them both, and they pulled apart a bit and smiled.

"I'm awake now," Daniel said, quite superfluously.

"I can see that, Daniel." Jack just wanted to burst out laughing. It was the only response to the whole cracked situation, and it was all his fault. Hilarious.

"Let's go to bed."

"Carter and Barrett are in your bed."

"I know that, Jack. There's another bed, remember?"

"Right," Jack said. They got up, both of them slow and clumsy, and he let Daniel lead him down the hall to the small yet perfect-for-postcoital-cuddling daybed in the second bedroom, which served as Daniel's office. They settled close, Jack plastered against Daniel's back, an exquisite treat in itself, Jack thought. He'd slept alone for years; his time with Sarah an oasis he rarely could bear to revisit in memory, but he'd never liked sleeping alone. Tonight, he'd get to sleep with Daniel's skin against his, the warm lime smell of Daniel's neck in his nostrils -- comfort and safety and sated lust. Jack closed his eyes against the rush of emotion he felt. He had dozed a bit in the living room, and now he was drained, literally, and delighted to lie down, but he didn't want to sleep yet. He wasn't done feeling Daniel's skin.

They could hear Carter and Barrett talking, though they couldn't catch the words.

"Good night, kids," Jack called brightly. There was no answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Same shafts of light from the streetlight, same smell of old paper and coffee grounds. Yes, this was definitely his study. He could see from the corner of his eye the changing hues of his screen saver. There was a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling nearest the half-open door. It was all the same, all just as it should be. Except he was naked, in the too-small bed, the seldom-used sheets scratchy and unfamiliar. Naked. In bed in his office. Study. Spare room. Whatever. With Jack. He almost pinched himself, but he contented himself with stroking the arm that Jack had curled around him. They were sharing a pillow. Jack's breath was warm on his neck. He knew Jack was awake. Daniel wasn't drunk; had headed off that state hours ago. He'd watched Jack watch Sam and Agent Barrett, and he'd figured he'd be needed for some kind of therapy after. He either expected Sam to stay late and complain about trying to juggle Malcolm and Pete, the way things were headed, or Jack to stay late and pretend he didn't care that Carter was parading not one but two new guys under their noses, like a kid sister seeking the approval of the big brothers. Or so Daniel speculated, having had neither sisters nor brothers. _Until now,_ a warm, contented part of himself reminded him, and he smiled. Although that's where the analogy broke down, because tonight Jack had been anything but brotherly. Of all the possible after-parties to this silly party Jack had foisted on him, the actual result was so outside what Daniel had ever contemplated that he simply could not believe it.

But he could convince himself easily, by cupping Jack's forearm, running his thumb along the groove where muscle met bone. Jack made a pleased rumble, almost a purr, and settled himself closer against Daniel's ass. He moved his arm, curled his fingers into Daniel's, and Daniel had to close his eyes.

Too impossible. Too much.

Years of carefully silencing the parts of himself that were always wanting to shout, _Jack! Yes! Now!_, years of internal negotiations every time he found himself alone in his bed, dick in hand, thinking about Jack almost against his will, and now all his careful reserve was shown to have been, if not useless, then certainly unnecessary.

So. He'd been right, all along. He'd felt the chemistry between Jack O'Neill and himself, put it down to wishful thinking on his part as long as he could, acknowledged and blessed it and relegated it, for the better part of several years, minus the ascension year that still eluded his memory. He'd noticed how the military contingent of the SGC always treated him; like Jack's bitch, for lack of a better term. Like they assumed something more than the fact that Colonel Hardass wanted Daniel on his team, end of story. Jack's authority covered him, surrounded him. He had his own reputation, certainly, but he was more than himself. He was Jack's pet archaeologist, the only possible person who could hold his slot on Jack's team. And, perhaps, more. Paul Davis had certainly seen it. Hammond probably had.

So. It was real, and it had been demonstrated in beautiful, exquisite detail tonight. Jack, here. Jack, wanting him. Too much. Daniel drew breath, held it. Yes. He would ask. It would be amazing to ask, because Jack might actually answer him. He had, earlier, after all. He spoke as if hooking his question on to their earlier conversation. Jack's hand remained in his, fingers twined. It felt so good, so safe, so warm and right.

"So, why tonight? I see why you chose to do it, but why now? This -- what -- tension? Forbidden attraction? Has been going on between us for years now. Why tonight."

Jack sighed. He was pressing his soft groin against Daniel almost absently, thinking, yet apparently enjoying the feel of Daniel's skin against him. It was lovely and soothing and pretty soon it was going to be arousing again, too. "Something was gonna blow. Plus Carter's finally having some kind of breakthrough. You heard about her cop."

"I heard... Breakthrough about not being so hung up on you, you mean."

"That obvious?"

Daniel snorted.

They were quiet for a while. After a lull, happy Carter noises had started again in Daniel's bedroom.

Jack squeezed Daniel's hand. "Thanks for never making me discuss why you and not her."

Daniel smiled. "You mean, what -- forward from here? Or so far? And me? Try to make you talk? What am I; stupid?"

Jack pressed his face into Daniel's neck instead of answering. Daniel hadn't really expected an answer, but he could feel Jack smiling.

Something else occurred to Daniel. He'd never doubted that Jack's attraction to Sam was real, and Sam's attraction to Jack had been obvious. Their behavior, on the other hand, had been as strict as the strange working conditions of the team could allow. Daniel pondered this, pondered the shift in the team dynamics that might occur now. He didn't really know what Jack intended by having sex with him. Hell, he didn't really know what he intended by having sex with Jack, past the fact that he'd wanted it for years and that for reasons known only to Jack, it had now been abruptly moved from the fantasy category to the inescapable reality category. What it mean to Sam? What would Teal'c think? What did Jack want to happen?

He frowned, considering, not worrying. Not yet. "On the other hand, have you considered, would an orgy at this point make things better or worse?"

Jack stiffened. "You'd do that?"

"I would now. If it would help."

Help. Such an open ended word. Such an amazing, weird word. Such a crazy thing to be talking about.

Jack was still quiet, attentive. "I'd do that?"

"Maybe. Barrett's pretty hot." Jack snorted and ruffled his hair.

Daniel, freed from Jack's comforting grip on his hand, rolled under Jack's arm to face him. Brown eyes, close up, soft and deep in the half-dark of the room. He looked at Jack for a long moment, then slid out of bed and quietly stalked down to the bathroom. Nothing but quiet, now, from his bedroom. He drank from the sink, pissed, washed his hands, and slowly, went to see what he could see in his room.

Barrett was curled around Sam much as Jack had curled around him. He must have heard Daniel, or felt him, and opened his eyes. His smile was wry. He sat up, and Sam watched him, rolling to her back. Barrett held out his hand.

"I don't believe we've met, Mrs. O'Neill.... I'm Mrs. Some Kind of Fucked up Consolation Prize, and this is our winner for the evening, Major Sa--"

Daniel put his hand up, a gesture of "stop." Barrett cut himself off, took back his hand, and eased back down beside Sam. He looked up at Daniel, head tilted. Daniel didn't know him well enough to read his mood, but he guessed sarcasm was basically good. He noticed Sam was raking him with her gaze, and remembered he was naked. Oh, well.

"Tell me something. Would a full scale orgy at this point make things better or worse?" Sam might have gasped. She burrowed a little further into Barrett's armpit.

Barrett's eyes got big, but he didn't move. His glance drifted up and down Daniel's body and back. Daniel was still. He was just waiting. Barrett and he both knew whose vote really counted here.

Sam said, "Let me get back to you on that."

"Just checking," Daniel said, and, because it seemed like the thing to do, he bent and kissed Sam on the cheek, and thought about sketching a salute to Barrett, and thought better of it, and went back to his warm, rangy armful of Jack O'Neill.

As he was settling himself back against all that warm skin, Jack hissed at him, "Are you nuts?"

"Probably."

They settled again, finding it easy to lie together, like they'd been doing it for years. Daniel finally began to doze off. Barrett and Sam were quiet.

Daniel was almost asleep when Jack said, quietly, matter-of-factly, "She's my one regret now."

"I know."

Daniel dozed, but not deeply. He was waiting for something to happen. He had a feeling Barrett would leave in the night, and sure enough, he did.

~~~

Sam knew she was alone even before she opened her eyes. Malcolm had left in the night. _Coward._

She rolled over and groaned, and swiped her face against the pillow. Clear-headed, with a spiking headache. Morning was so overrated, and she needed coffee and some aspirin.

She was quite shocked at how fucking angry she was. She heaved herself out of Daniel's bed and rummaged in his closet. She knew he had a bathrobe; she'd seen him wearing it. There. Terry cloth, blue, old.

She could smell coffee, and hear the colonel and Daniel murmuring in the kitchen.

Well.

She stalked in, not meeting their eyes, poured herself a cup of coffee, yanked out one of the rock-maple Shaker chairs, and sat down heavily. The view, out Daniel's kitchen windows of the Front Range, was spectacular, and she'd never seen it in morning light like this. It made a very nice distraction. She flinched when the colonel set a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of her, but she picked up the fork on the plate and dutifully consumed them.

Yes. Still mad. She finished, noticing they'd been silent since she'd joined them. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the colonel. He looked back, quizzical, handsome as always, and looked as if he were about to say something flippant. Well, that wouldn't do at all. She stood up, quickly. He looked startled.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Ouch. Too loud. She ran a hand through her hair and fumbled for her mug. She couldn't do this without more coffee, and Daniel was right there, refilling her mug. She pursed her lips. She wanted to sit down again; she wanted to pace. She looked at O'Neill.

"You didn't sound so upset in the night, Major." He waved a vague hand, mocked her. "Oh, Malcolm, harder, faster, harder, faster."

"Fuck you! You know exactly what I mean. And you were listening! I knew you would want to. Why do you think I had him leave the door open, huh?"

They stood there, staring each other down.

"Jack," Daniel began.

Sam turned on him. "Daniel, I'm mad, I'm hung over, I just fucked Malcolm Fucking Barrett in your bed, while my commanding officer listened in after having sex with you on your sofa, I don't think it's fucking time to calm down yet, okay?"

Daniel adjusted his glasses and looked pleadingly at O'Neill.

"Oh, for crying out loud," the colonel said, and turned back to her. "Look. You think I'm good for you, Carter, and we are good. In the field. In the field!" He stretched his arms out, as if appealing for understanding. Daniel folded his arms and leaned against the counter. "You need someone in your life who's your equal, not your CO. Someone who wouldn't have all the baggage we'd have. You maybe haven't found him yet, but maybe you have. Who knows. It's just. It was time." Jack started to pace around the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and his dog tags. His feet were bare. Sam found it highly distracting, but she listened and sipped her coffee. About time the bastard talked to her. "Time to do something. I probably should have done something before Teal'c got involved with Ishta, but..." He waved his hand around. It made Carter gape. She leaned on the table, staring at him.

"Something with the _four_ of us?" He was even more reckless and crazy than she'd dreamed.

"Something!" O'Neill turned back to her. He looked disheveled, almost desperate, and way too endearing.

Sam released the breath she'd been holding and sat down again. The coffee was helping her head. Jesus. The four of them? Before Ishta? How had Malcolm put it: _We all expect weird shit if we get involved with SG-1._ She hadn't, in her wildest dreams, imagined O'Neill was capable of anything like this. It rocked all her preconceptions about him.

She frowned at him. "The main problem is, how the hell is it your responsibility anyway, colonel? Jack! You're nuts! In fact, you're both nuts," she went on, gathering steam, glaring at Daniel. "I mean, I got laid, it was great, it's embarrassing, it's a relief, in a way. To have this all out in the open; I mean it's all dragged on my subconscious for fucking years, you," she stared at Jack again, "Daniel, especially you.

"Jesus! You think I didn't see the attraction? How it came and went? How we all wanted what we couldn't have? And the other shit, the, the shitty fates, the people we lost..." She waved her hand and stopped herself from saying names. They all knew the names; no one ever had to speak them. The men watched her, simply waiting. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of Narim, of Martouf, of Shau'ri, and that the list could go on, could take even more names to itself, a heavy litany of death, made her crazy. She swallowed hard and found her anger again. "The jealousy and the weirdness, but now, after last night's little escapade, we've got "don't ask, don't tell" with fucking _Barrett_ to worry about, and that's all fucked up, and what the fuck were you thinking, sir, dragging Barrett into your little high school, almost-an-orgy-but-not-quite experience? Sir! Jack! For god's sake, all we lacked was the marijuana and the hot tub!"

She found she'd run out of rant, out of steam. She wiped her eyes and drank coffee. Neither of the other two said a word.

She found her conclusion, staring into her cup, then at Jack. "I felt like a, a, cow! Being driven into a chute. You left me one exit, one way to go. And I took it!"

Jack wasn't having it. "Oh, come on. You've been flirting with the guy for years. There's nothing wrong with a little friendly stress relief. And I thought you said you have some history with him."

Sam shook her head. He was focusing on trivialities now. "What I really can't believe is that you'd trust him with all this shit to blackmail us with now."

Jack sat down across from her. "Carter. You already said you trust him. He's with us now, as much as Davis is, or Ferretti. It's just one more secret."

"Buddy fucking," Daniel said, but distractedly, as if he was thinking of something else, catching up to the conversation.

Jack went on, gently, but still determined to have it his way: "You're having fun with your cop, what's his name."

"Pete," Daniel supplied.

"That's, that's... not the same. Different." Why wouldn't he address her point? Was he blind? She stared at him, trying to think.

Daniel walked over and put his hands on Jack's shoulders. She stared at them both. She demanded, "You already have a rep, don't you?"

They looked receptive, not surprised.

She shook her head. "One more trustworthy person, more or less, knowing you're gay, or bi, or whatever, doesn't really matter, does it? And here I'm all worried about Malcolm knowing some dark secret about you! Letting your cat out of the bag. So to speak." She smiled in spite of herself. Where had her mad gone? She wanted to find it again. It was easier than watching Daniel touch him like that. She stood up and went to pour herself some more coffee. Her mind was whirring.

"It's not much of a secret at all, is it? Not with SGC. It's part of why you have to cave sometimes to people like Kinsey, isn't it?" She turned to Jack. He shrugged. "You've always been a security risk. Since way before Daniel opened the Stargate. You always got the, the "edge of doom" appointments, didn't you? All those years in black ops? And they still must think you're--" she paused, and her eyes filled again. "Expendable. But you just keep surprising them, don't you? No wonder you couldn't get promoted."

Jack shrugged again. He had dropped his gaze. Daniel was still standing close to him.

"The things I miss by not getting to hang out in the men's locker room. Jesus."

Daniel stirred. She could feel him weighing his words. His hands slipped reluctantly from Jack's shoulders, a caress, and he sat down, too, pulled his coffee mug closer. "Jack. I think as much as we appreciate the strategic difficulty of what you did and what you were trying to solve last night, and as much as I personally love you --"

Jack flinched, and Sam flinched because he did. Was Daniel crossing some kind of line? Could that be said?

Daniel went doggedly on, "There's an energy to this, a pattern, that you and I pairing off, as beautiful and as risky as that is, and that setting Sam up with Barrett, setting her free to be the butterfly like in that stupid sixties poem--"

Jack grumbled, "Yeah, I always preferred the hunt them down and kill them option to the set them free option myself." But he was listening closely.

Daniel gestured as if brushing away flies. Sam watched them communicate; they were telepathic. She just knew it. If she searched, she would find the alien device that had caused it.

Daniel was searching for words. He found them, and he looked up at her, meeting her eyes. The clarity and undefended honesty of his glance wounded her all over again. He was still speaking to Jack. "Look. I love Sam, you love Sam. I love you. We all love each other, us, Teal'c, everyone. You know the undercurrents of all this shit have helped the team as much as they've hurt us, through the years."

Jack got up, started to pace. "So you're saying that last night was a big mistake; that I was right before, that Carter was. That sticking with "no frat" was the right way to go." He turned, leaning on a counter. "This is your I-told-you-so speech." He turned to the windows, looked at the mountains. The snow had changed from blue to golden white while they argued. It was no longer early.

Sam found herself wishing she could pet that place where Jack's hair smoothed from shortish into clipped, right there where his skull became neck. She looked at that spot as she spoke to Daniel.

"I never thought it would be you who would be endorsing the hoary rules of the military establishment."

"I'm not. I'm saying Jack was right to break the rules, and to finally push me into bed. I wanted it, he wanted it, it was everything right and good."

"Couch, actually." Jack's head had snapped around to look at Daniel, and the relief on his face was painful for Sam to see. Sam closed her eyes against it for a moment. When she opened them, Jack was smiling, a rueful smile that appreciated Daniel's flattery and waited for his kick in the gut, all at the same time.

Sam said, strained, "What are you saying, Daniel. Because I can't take much more of this right now." She made herself look at Daniel instead of Jack. If it was just going to be the two of them from now on, shutting her out, she'd better get used to it. Immediately.

Daniel glanced at her, but returned his steady gaze to Jack. "I'm saying he didn't go far enough."

Sam frowned as logic kicked back in, as usual, soothing her emotions. "So you walked in on me and Barrett with that..." Words failed her for a moment. She remembered Daniel's earnest face, a surreal contrast with his words. "That astonishingly batshit crazy proposition."

Remembering Daniel put her right back in his bed for a moment, right back there with Barrett, who'd undone her, unstrung her, fucked her and licked and encouraged her to yell for her audience. She blushed. Jack! The nerve of the man! Setting himself up as her pimp, presuming on the team's friendship like that. It was fucking embarrassing. Daniel and Jack were still staring at each other, trying for telepathy again. They must be slipping, she thought. Barrett. Malcolm Barrett could take this in stride. She knew that now. He wouldn't rat them out. He'd go back to Washington with some new memories to go with his old ones of Sam, as satisfied as a tomcat, and the next time they had to deal, it would go down beautifully. If she hadn't gotten serious about Pete by then, who knew what would happen. It was nice to know she still had a friend in D.C., actually. Kind of an honorary member of the team. _The team._

Her head came up and she stared at Daniel.

~~~

Daniel knew Jack hadn't heard Sam. All Jack was reacting to was Daniel's criticism.

"He didn't go far enough."

He watched Jack start to boil, and sure enough, he started to shout.

"Goddammit, Daniel, I had to do something! I made a decision, and maybe it was the wrong decision, but there it was. So it was Barrett; so what. I'm not telling you to marry the guy, Carter. Jesus. We had to do something to, to vent the steam. So it's vented. So we're talking now; finally, seven years later. That's good isn't it?"

Sam shook her head. "I never thought I'd hear Colonel Jonathan O'Neill endorsing actually talking about relationships and feelings." He fetched up next to the table, leaned on a chair-back and stared at her.

Daniel watched them; the chagrin warring with humor on Sam's face, the fading aggravation on Jack's. They took each other's measure, yet again. Daniel closed his eyes.

No big surprise that Jack had taken years before he'd finally decided he had to do something, choose one of them, break the tension in the team. Jack might love Daniel, want Daniel, but Daniel knew Jack would not ever define himself as gay. Jack did love women; had always loved women. And there was Sam -- with them every day, rock solid, brilliant, shining, beautiful. What's not to love?

Daniel remembered.

Jack hugging Sarah, years before, after the shock of seeing the alien in Charlie's shape. He'd watched, mesmerized, as Jack put his mouth against her hair, watched the memory of old pain take shape anew on Jack's face. Daniel knew that pain -- pain that carves you and tortures you into a new shape, a shape that then becomes familiar, like a scar or a disability. A pain that changes you forever, that you never outgrow. Jack, hugging Sarah, Jack's mouth in her hair.

His own memories flooded him, then -- memories of what it felt like to put your mouth in a woman's hair. Reluctant, beloved memories of a soft cheek against his, a face he had to bend down to kiss, a face that couldn't be more different from the face that had been offered to him last night, here in his own house, among his own familiar things.

Sha'uri's black, thick hair. Her soft, soft skin; soft all over except for her elbows and her hands. Her hands were harder than his had been, then. He'd been out of practice at digging, at work, and the hands of his wife had been calloused and hard on his skin. She was soft everywhere else: stomach, shoulders, neck. Breasts he could sink his face into, pillow his head upon. The swell of her hips as he pulled her against him, as his hands there anchored himself against the rhythm of pushing into her.

He remembered women. He remembered Shau'ri.

Too new, against those memories. Shocking and strange in its familiarity -- a man's touch, a man's body. Jack, just last night -- Jack, all that muscle, all that strength, finally his to feel, to know with tenderness, not with fleeting curiosity, with locked-down yearning. Jack's body, his to caress, to know.

Daniel opened his eyes, surprised to see that -- strange workings of memory -- only a moment had passed, a moment that was fully long enough to re-live years of love and loss, entire worlds of memory and sensation. Sam and Jack were still staring at each other, frowning. Daniel replayed the last few words that still hung in the air, and he knew he was right. Jack had not gone far enough.

He got up and walked to stand at the table's end between them, more literally than he ever had. He smiled at the thought.

"Guys. Talking is good. What Jack did is good. But there's more. What we need is a new paradigm. That's what I'm trying to say." He put a hand on Jack's arm and he reached out to Sam, and she took his hand. "Look. None of us will ever pick out china again, or even once. None of us will ever be married again."

Sam was frowning, shaking her head a little. _Yeah,_ he thought, as he framed his words. _Why should she have to give up that particular dream? But she's got to choose. You can't have it all at once. And some of it you can't ever have at all._ Daniel went on, "The military is right about one thing, one thing they're trying to prevent with the frat rules. The team comes first. The team." He squeezed Jack's arm, her hand. He wondered why he was saying all this; surely they knew this much better than he did. He was the outsider. He was telling them about the rules that governed their world, not his.

Sam had tears in her eyes, he noticed. Loss? Anger? Simple overwhelmed-ness? But she didn't look away. Right. Women were allowed to cry. Even an ultimate tough chick like their Samantha.

She offered, understanding him completely: "I said it to Teal'c once, right after we lost you, because, because of Kelowna. I said, no one can ever understand what we mean to each other. What we are to each other."

Glances flashed around, each point, blue to blue to brown. Daniel noticed the light was softer now. The sun had climbed. It wasn't shining straight onto the mountains now, reflecting off the snow. It was higher now, softer, yet brighter. Sam wiped her eyes.

Jack was frowning. "I wasn't trying to make things worse last night," he said gently. "But I guess I did."

"Jack," Daniel said, and let go of him and went around to Sam. He felt Jack get up, hover behind him. Daniel kissed her closed eyelid, and her face crumpled, but she let him do it. Daniel laid his cheek against her hair and she got up, came to him. He hugged her, a hug of reunion, a very tight hug. And she let him.

~~~

Jack watched Daniel hug Carter, jealous. He never let himself hug Carter. He could count on one hand how often he'd hugged Carter in eight years, because she was right. She'd nailed it. He couldn't go there, not with her. He couldn't breach that wall, not for himself, with the chain of command issues, and also because of what people would say about her. Rumors were as bad as the fact in their incestuous little corner of the military. He had always been more worried about Carter's career than his own, and he'd never let himself get close to her, not even as close as he'd let himself get to Daniel before last night. It was easier and more within the rules to let himself hug Daniel, or Teal'c, honestly. Carter was a double whammy: Female, and regular Air Force, and under his command, all in one inflammable package. He sighed.

Daniel rocked her a little, back and forth, a strange hybrid hug that was comforting, and yet too close for comfort. She was right, Jack knew. No one understood this; no one understood how close they were: the alien, the rogue, the genius and the geek. No one got it except maybe themselves, and Hammond, and certainly Janet had. He knew Barrett got it, and that's why Barrett was such a safe bet, why Jack had tried Plan A.

He watched Daniel hug her as only Daniel could -- close as a brother, close as a lover. His arms were around her shoulders and her arms had bent to catch him around the waist. Carter's eyes squeezed a little further closed, like she was trying to engrave the memory. Jack understood.

Daniel quieted the rocking, and then he pulled back and petted her hair away from her face. She opened her eyes and looked at Daniel. He turned them a little, shot Jack a glance over his shoulder, the glance that said, "Pay attention." And Daniel, telescoping every move, so that Carter would have plenty of opportunity to tell him to stop, tilted his head and slowly, slowly, brought his mouth to hers.

Jack watched as those hands, their blunt, short fingers, tightened on Daniel's arms, but she didn't move. She watched Daniel's approaching mouth like the mouse watches the cat. Jack watched, too, equally transfixed, as Daniel sealed his lips to hers, gentle and relentless, as Daniel had proved to him last night. He watched, and some part of him thought, "That's hot," rumbling approval, even as something in his heart seemed to crack.

He watched Daniel kiss Carter -- shocking, impossible, _Daniel kissing Sam_ \-- yet no more impossible than what he'd done last night, what he'd touched and tasted. This felt wrong, tearing -- on some bone-deep level he felt Daniel was his now, after last night. That had been what this was all about, after all, hadn't it been? Something he'd had to do to clear the air, create a sexual storm to wash away all the electricity, all the tension, in lightning and rain. In one roaring gust, he'd gotten Carter laid, broken the tension of all the unacknowledged undercurrents between the three of them, brought it all out in the open, broken the spell, cleaned the slate, made Daniel his at last. Claimed one of them, at least.

And with one kiss Daniel was curving the lines again, crossing them, making it all non-Euclidean and weird. What the fuck was Daniel doing.

He'd impressed Daniel into himself last night, swapped spit with him, tasted and touched and sucked and licked and marked. Held him and wrapped him into Jack, gotten Daniel under his skin. And yet, there was Daniel, smearing himself into someone else. Of course, the someone else was Carter, and that was dislocating in its weirdness.

It felt like rejection, only it couldn't be. It felt even more forbidden than what he'd done with Daniel, only it wasn't. Because Carter was and always had been equally his to protect and command and love. It was just that there were rules; rules about women and about the chain of command that were more deeply ingrained in Jack's morality than the obviously impossible commands of society to not like men. of course you liked men. You were with men twenty-four/seven; you were disciplined, primed, locked and loaded to fight for your men, to die for them, to think of them first. You were expected to have them and hold them and love them. That was simple. Much simpler than marriage, much simpler than trying to put a golden, hourglass shaped, bubbling laughter shining brilliant natural resource like Samantha Carter into an Air Force mold. But he'd done it. The rules helped him, layer upon layer, discipline upon discipline.

And if Jack broke those rules, surely that would hurt Sam, hurt the team, in a way that he had concluded long since that Daniel could not be hurt. Daniel -- Daniel could cheat the Grim Reaper. Daniel could spit in Oma Desala's eye and get away with it, Mother Nature herself, the original Bitch In Charge. In light of that, Jack saw no reason Daniel couldn't find a way around a little thing like "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

But Sam. Sam had so much more to lose.

And he couldn't help feeling it was different. He knew she could command, could fight, could figure out the weirdest shit the universe could throw at them, her brain was absolutely scary that way, but he couldn't help seeing the girl in her eyes. He couldn't help reverting to the young overly protective alpha dog who had wanted to marry Sarah, who had loaded all his callow ideas about what the military was protecting and serving into one person. Not fair; he knew that. He still fought it, every time had had women under his command, and he'd done a good job. But still. He loved Sam. He wanted to pet her and protect her and hold her hand and put her head on his shoulder. Not fair at all. She'd probably slap him if she ever realized it, and give him a lecture on particle physics as punishment.

They were still kissing, surprised, intent, holding on tight.

And Daniel -- Daniel had simply moved into his soul at a time that Jack had had no barriers at all to put up against his fearless love. Jack couldn't daunt Daniel, couldn't faze him, scare him or shut him up. That first day at the mountain, before it even was an SGC, Daniel was blithely unconcerned with the fact that Jack was a zombie, a walking corpse. Daniel simply chose not to notice that Jack had lain down in the shadows, ready to die, ready to kill, ready to sacrifice an entire planet to his own sin. The Abydos mission hadn't been real to Jack, not really. Not until he had to meet the eyes of people like Ska'ara and Shau'ri. Not until Daniel had looked at him and simply, directly informed him he couldn't give up. Not for any reason. And he'd believed Daniel.

Jack would never forget it, that night in the refugees' cave. And he would never forget the unquestioning trust in Daniel's eyes when he'd taken up his new wife's dying body and said to Jack, "Wait for me," and ringed himself back up into that fucking ship before Jack could say a word. What could you do against an onslaught like that? Another man might have been immune, perhaps. But not Jack.

Daniel had pulled him back from death, and Jack had never let go of Daniel even though a galaxy stretched between them, and huge conspiracy of lies had been built to keep them apart.

Here they were again, closer than ever.

And who knew, Jack mused, as the kiss he was watching slowly ended -- another first, what barriers of tradition and service Sam had built to keep her life moving, but apparently Daniel had no fear of breaching them, either.

Daniel released her mouth, and it left her puzzled and ravished looking, frowning a little, blue looking into blue.

Jack watched, and wanted them both with an intensity that turned his guts to water.

Daniel was asking him, again, for the impossible, the unthinkable. But that's what Daniel always did.

The unthinkable became the inevitable, because Daniel stepped back one pace, and took Sam's hand, and then turned and put out his hand to Jack. Jack went to them and took it, and took hold of Carter's shoulder. He could count on one hand the times he'd hugged her. She looked at him, and licked her Daniel-stung lips. She spoke to Daniel, though.

"Are you sure we can do this?

"No," Daniel said. "But I think we have to try."

"All for one and one for all, then," Jack said gravely, letting his other hand climb Daniel's arm, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. And Daniel smiled and stepped in, and Sam tilted her head and went for Jack's mouth. She was hungry for him, hungry and impatient in a way she hadn't been for Daniel. Too surprised, a minute ago, maybe. Now she wasn't surprised any more; she off balance and annoyed, and he was pretty sure she had to be in as much lust as Jack was, maybe more, since she'd just had the Daniel treatment to wake up every inch of her skin. Though with women it was impossible to tell until you got close enough to touch them. _This is what the concept of "pent up demand" is about_, Jack thought. Sam pressed herself against him, took his jaw in her hands. It was luscious; her breasts against him, her scent -- sweat and night and stale sex, her taste -- coffee and syrup and something sharp and fresh. He let himself fall into her kiss, knowing Daniel was watching them, loving that. Daniel slid an arm around Jack and Jack knew he was putting an arm around Sam, too.

"Oh, god, " Daniel said, and damned if he didn't press his mouth in, right into their kiss, and Jack had to smile, because Sam giggled, and it was a mess, awkward and nowhere to put his nose, but mouths opened, tasting, and it was sandpaper and tongues and syrup and coffee and giggling. They were both demanding bastards. Jack should have known.

Then Sam was tugging on both of them, pulling them out of the bright kitchen, back into the little spare room where the two of them had slept, not Daniel's room that she had shared with Barrett.

 

They pulled off Jack's jeans, and arranged him on his back on the bed. Daniel had to go back to his own room for condoms. While he was gone, Sam knelt over him, and it was his sweet pleasure to untie Daniel's robe from her waist, to push it off her shoulders, and her generous breasts rounded into his hands. He touched them softly, not squeezing, stroking with his palms, and she closed her eyes and leaned toward him, planting a fist on either side of his neck. He couldn't believe it all over again.

Daniel came back, and he smiled at them and pulled off his sweats, and he couldn't see, only feel, how Daniel rolled the rubber over him, and Sam was in a hurry, apparently.

She climbed on him, hands on his shoulders, and he had to close his eyes, too, because Daniel was holding him until there was no room for his hand between Sam and Jack.

Sam said, "Oh, my, god," again, and he was getting used to hearing that. Daniel spread himself out next to him, and Jack was lost, smelling her, feeling them both. She was relentless, lifting herself on those quads, and he wished he could have made his eyes open a little more. She kissed him and fucked him and rode him until he came.

Jack clutched at her arms, barely aware of Daniel there, Daniel's hand on her back, and he slid away, toward the wall, as best he could, to give her room, because after bringing Jack off she rolled onto her back, and Daniel didn't miss a beat, rolling atop her and pushing into her as soon as she was down. Her knee came up, pressing against Jack's side just over his hip bone, and her face was right there, sweaty hairline, smeared mascara. She opened her mouth and licked her lips, jutted her chin toward the ceiling as she took Daniel in for what Jack assumed was the first time, and Jack pressed his mouth to her cheekbone and made encouraging, urging noises. He got up on his elbow, because this was too good to miss, Daniel, propped over her, frowning and intent. She was moaning, holding on to Jack's arm, and Daniel smiled and got his knees under him and got Sam's ankles over his shoulders, and he watched himself pumping in and out of her, and Jack watched, too.

_He's going to make her come, just like that,_ Jack thought, and Sam was saying things that might have been, "Oh, yeah, Oh, yeah," but she wasn't really forming the consonants very well, and finally she put her head back and yelled, and Daniel kept pushing, continued the heavy action of his hips, until she said, clearly, "Oh, god," and squeezed their arms so hard Jack was sure she was going to leave nail marks. Daniel slowed then, watching her carefully, still moving, still holding on himself, and finally she opened her eyes, and looked at him, and said, "Come on, come on," and then she pulled Jack down so that she was kissing him when Daniel came inside her. Jack fumbled up, eyes closed, and cupped the back of Daniel's sweaty neck.

Daniel didn't collapse, the careful bastard. So beautiful, so weird, to see how careful Daniel was with her. He eased her legs down and pulled her up against him, and she went, curling up, sitting easily -- _god, the abs on this woman_ \-- arms around Daniel's shoulders, hanging on. Jack fit himself in beside them, holding them both, the scent of semen and her juices a rich cloud around them.

"There is no try, Daniel. There is only do," Jack, said trying for serious, hoping they'd remember what Daniel had said, back in the kitchen, and Sam started laughing so hard Daniel nearly dropped her.

The afterward was tangled, in the sweaty, sticky little bed, but Sam lay down and cuddled close to Jack, and Daniel pulled himself into sitting cross-legged at one corner, apparently all those hours of meditation with Teal'c making that comfortable. Jack got to stretch his legs -- an important consideration, though one he would never admit to.

There was too much skin. Too much skin to enjoy and pet, but Jack did his best to give it all the attention it deserved. Sam was smooth and soft, the muscle not so close to the surface, no tan lines. Daniel was hard and vast, as hairless as Sam and just as beautiful. But they both looked at him like he was what they came to see, like he was their surprise bonus treasure.

Blinded by the intensity of their gaze, he almost said, "What," but then he realized if he said it, they would tell him, and he didn't actually want to hear it. Touching, and seeing the look in their eyes, was plenty.

Daniel finally apparently looked his fill, because he lay down, plastering himself against Sam, and flung an arm over both of them. Sam in the middle, Jack against the wall, and Jack might have dozed off for a bit. When he was startled awake by Sam's voice, the light was different.

Sam said, "You know, a tripod is the least stable structure of all."

Jack thought of his roof at home, of his telescope and how it sat, on a tripod, and all those times he wondered if he'd found the sun of Abydos, and the strings he'd pulled to get his futile calculations checked.

Daniel stirred, and Jack could hear the laughter in his voice -- that arrogant, confident voice, always willing to take on Carter, to match wits, even when the subject was geometry.

"Yes, certainly. For a structure. But a triangle, as a foundation. As a building block. It's the most stable structure of all."

"Mm," Sam said, clearly not ready to concede, but her hand was petting and scrubbing along Jack's side, and he could smell Daniel's sweet breath through her hair, and Jack let himself doze off again.

~~~

_"Man has explored all countries and all lands,  
And made his own the secrets of each clime.  
Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,  
The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands;  
The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,  
And even the haughty elements sublime  
And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,  
And speed like lackeys forth at his commands._

"Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,  
And no strange realms, no unlocated plains  
Are left for his attainment and control,  
Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.  
Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains  
The undiscovered country of thy soul!"

\-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

end


End file.
